


Candyfloss and Ketamine

by ThePrettiestStar



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, explicit drug and alcohol abuse, it's gonna get sad im Sorry, s2 boosh, there's a lot of angst in this one lads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 10:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12296892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePrettiestStar/pseuds/ThePrettiestStar
Summary: Something's wrong with Vince, and Howard's desperate to help. Question is, is it already too late?





	Candyfloss and Ketamine

**Author's Note:**

> ANOTHER BOOSH FIC WHO SAW THAT ONE COMING this one is Longer and with Actual Chapters its gonna get sad yall whos ready for an emotional rollercoaster im sure not

“Where have you been?”  
“Out.”  
“Where’s ‘out’? You’ve been gone for hours.”  
“Y’know, just. Out.”  
“What’s wrong with your eyes?”  
“Nothing.”  
“… Vince?”  
“Fuck off.”  
  
Christ.

Vince loved annoying Howard. He always had done. The inane ramblings. The nonsensical stories that never reached a conclusion. Performing one-man New Wave operas in the shower at three in the morning. Anything he knew would tick Howard off, he launched into like he was born to do it. Including, more recently, avoiding him after he’d been out.

Howard hated that.

Naturally, the first time it happened, it took him by surprise. The one-word answers and sarcastic remarks threw him, a far cry from the hideous puns or funny anecdotes Vince usually forced on him after he’d had a few drinks. The temper didn’t suit him at all, the harsh words twisting his usual sunny smile into a bitter sneer. It didn’t last long, though; half an hour alone and Vince emerged from his room like nothing happened, flopping on the sofa next to Howard and launching into a story he’d heard about the red pandas at a zoo in Nepal. Howard thought it was strange, but he didn’t say anything, brushing it off as easily as Vince seemed to have done.

The next time it happened, Vince didn’t speak to him properly until breakfast the next morning.

The time after that, it was almost two days. That last one had been different. Howard got all the usual terse answers, but rather than sounding angry, Vince seemed reluctant to talk to him at all. Distant, almost. His eyes kept glazing over, staring at nothing.

Howard hadn’t told him he’d heard him crying that night.

Jolted back to reality by the slam of a coffee cup on the table, he decided he wasn’t going to put up with this. Not tonight. He was Howard Moon, for Christ’s sake. No one talks to him like that without good reason; not even Vince.

Vince could feel his fingers seizing up around the mug he’d clamped his hands around, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t let Howard see he was trembling, because Howard would start asking questions that he wouldn’t be able to answer, and Howard would get angry, and he’d get upset, and he was sick of it. He was sick of the stupid routine he’d dragged himself into, and he was sick of what it was doing to him. _What the fuck is wrong with you?_ the voice in his head demanded, causing him to grit his teeth as he vaguely registered Howard sitting across the table from him. _Why are you still shaking? It’s not like you’ve never done it before._ He trained his eyes on a cut on his right hand, adamant he wasn’t going to look up at him. He was talking. Why was he talking? He knew he was being questioned, but none of the words were going in. All he could hear was the virulent taunts of the voice in his head. _You’re pathetic._ He’s still talking. _I don’t know why anyone bothers with you._ Oh. He’s not talking anymore. _If you couldn’t even do THAT right, how are you going to do anything else?_ Why is he looking at you? _You’re a waste of space._ He’s still not talking. _You made him hate you_. Does he want an answer? _Why should he care about you anymore?_ If I don’t know what he said, how am I meant to answer? _Just give up, you’re worthless. You know it, he knows it, everyone knows it. You’re not good enough. Never have been. All you do is-_

“I hate you,” Vince spat into the silence. “I _fucking_ hate you.”

Both men froze.

Vince’s breath hitched as the atmosphere in the room shifted. Fuck. Fuck, no, that wasn’t what he meant. It wasn’t aimed at Howard; Howard didn’t think that was aimed at him, did he? He can’t have done, Vince thought, eyes snapping up to desperately search those sat across from him. No. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it! Surely, Howard knew he didn’t mean it. He had to.  
Howard’s eyes were empty. The voice in Vince’s head purred, satisfied with the damage it had caused. It gorged itself on the dull ache that was starting to throb through his chest, growing louder, louder, even louder than his real thoughts, his actual thoughts, until it was the only thing he could hear.

_Nice one, Vince. He was the only one you had left, and you fucked that up too._

He felt the hot sting of tears pricking his eyes, and he was gone. The voice, that _thing,_ took over, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. It stood him up, forced him to snatch his bag from the sofa, and marched him towards the door. He couldn’t fight it. Howard grabbed his arm before he could open it, but he didn’t feel it. He was numb. “Vince. Vince, please don’t leave,” Howard begged, voice cracking when he saw the pearl of a tear glistening on Vince’s pale cheek. “Not like this. Please, you’re in no state to be out. I don’t know what’s wrong, I don’t know what’s happened and I’m sorry, I can stay out of your way, I can go out tonight if you don’t want me around, but I-“

Please understand, Vince begged with his eyes. Please, understand this isn’t me. I’m sorry.

His arm was yanked from Howard’s grip, and the door was slammed without a backwards glance.


End file.
